


A Lifetime of Insanity

by kyrilu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, Curses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: Instead of imprisoning Gellert in Nurmengard after defeating him, Albus chooses to magically bind him and keep him at Hogwarts like a caged owl. It's really not the greatest idea.





	A Lifetime of Insanity

**1.**

Gellert resorts to childish, petty measures at first.

He shuffles the order of essays that Albus has been grading. He charms the Deathly Hallows symbol on the bedroom wall. He tweaks the designs on Albus’ ridiculous robes.

Most significantly, he refuses to talk to Albus.

After a week, he stops eating the food the house elves have been bringing to him.

Later that day, Albus finds Gellert standing on the balcony outside their quarters. This part of Hogwarts overlooks the Great Lake, and Gellert watches the stars, his expression distant and unfocused.

“Have you tried jelly babies?” Albus says. “The Muggles suspended its production during the war, but I had luckily saved a stash. The center of a jelly baby tastes very sweet and it’s easy to chew.”

“Albus,” Gellert says, “shut up.”

Albus looks at him, and Gellert tears his eyes away from the night sky and looks back. The faint moonlight makes Albus’ blue watery eyes more luminous. His long red hair, streaked with grey, is like a bright flare in the darkness.

“You are a coward and a fool,” Gellert says.

“You must eat, Gellert,” Albus says. He says it gently, as if the mere softness of his tone is enough convincing. “I can ask Elly to bring other foods, if the current meals are not to your liking.”

“If I don’t eat,” Gellert says, holding up his arm, showing the curse mark, “will you make me?”

“You are not one of my students,” Albus says. There is a sharpness that has crept into his voice, which makes Gellert feel viciously satisfied. “You are not a child. You know that I gave you a choice. Nurmengard or--”

“Or _bloodbound_ ,” Gellert sneers. “Secretly hiding me at this school like your little pet. What a great noble hero you are. If only everyone knew.”

Albus had lied.

After their duel, Albus presented Gellert with an offer: to serve as a prisoner at Nurmengard or as a prisoner at Hogwarts.

Gellert, of course, chose the latter. He had built Nurmengard to be impenetrable. He wagered that he would have a greater chance to escape at Hogwarts; he didn’t want to be locked away in an isolated tower.

Then, Albus laid out the terms of the curse. It would be a simple magical restriction curse, he said.

Those were tricky, but undoable.

Yet the spell Albus eventually cast was layered with dark magic. It was a bloodbinding, an ancient medieval curse cast upon enemies taken captive.

Gellert hadn’t even known that Albus would be capable of casting a curse of that magnitude.

There is a blooming red mark of a phoenix on Gellert’s right arm. Swirling scarlet feathers like fire. He can feel it shifting every minute of the day and he _hates_ it.

“It’s very dark magic, Albus,” Gellert says mildly. “It’s rather hypocritical of you. What was that news article you wrote? About the dangers of dark magic and how destructive it can be?”

“That’s enough,” Albus says, leveling Gellert with a steady gaze.

Gellert feels it, now. A stabbing sensation in his forearm, pressure squeezing around his bones.

He laughs and laughs from the pain of it. It’s enough to bring him to his knees.

“Darling Albus,” he says, “I will eat. I will eat your jelly babies and sherbet lemons and blackcurrant pastilles. I will eat your house elf’s awful English food. I’m still waiting for the stars to sing of your death.”

Albus, suddenly, starts. Seems to come back to himself, and he registers the sight of Gellert crouched before him.

The pain ebbs away.

“I’m sorry,” Albus says.

“No, you’re not.”

* * *

**2.**

Gellert retreats into the stacks of books scattered around Albus’ quarters, researching whatever the next fancy takes him.

After all, he has all the time in the world.

Gellert teaches himself Gobbledgook. He goes through reams of parchment practicing the winding script of runes. He peruses the alchemic texts that Albus has hoarded, muttering at the foolishness of invasive Muggle culture as he puzzles over the meaning of Biblical Decknamen for ingredients and procedures.

Conspicuously, there are no books about bloodbindings.

Elly - the house elf that serves Albus’ quarters -  brings basic potion ingredients when Gellert asks.

Gellert supposes Albus must feel so _good_ about himself, allowing this little measure of freedom and experimentation. A show of trust or rubbish like that.

“I can be helping,” Elly offers, holding up a spoon, large bug-eyes staring at Gellert’s cauldron. “What are you making, sir?”

“A cake,” Gellert says flatly.

He concocts an explosive potion that’s capable of blowing through the floor, but before he can drop in the catalyst, he’s struck by a blinding migraine.

He gets the same result when he tries to make Amortentia, and when he tries to cut off his cursed arm with a silver potion knife.

Elly fetches him a headache potion after every attempt.

* * *

 

**3.**

Gellert discovers that he can, in fact, leave Albus’ rooms.

There is nothing in the curse that stops him.

He applies a Disillusionment spell to himself. He wanders Hogwarts’ halls, watching the staff and students walk by.

He is surprised when he feels no pain when he ventures outside--outdoors. The sky is clear, the wind is sharp, and it’s as if Gellert Grindelwald is not a prisoner at all.

Well, not quite. There are no followers to command, nor enemies to terrorize. He is no longer the master of the Elder Wand.

The surface of the Great Lake is deceptively still. A stray breeze makes the water ripple.

Abruptly, Gellert realizes that he isn’t alone.

There is a Hogwarts student standing by the lake, a red-haired girl peering at the depths. She whips her head up, as if aware of Gellert’s presence.

Gellert drops the Disillusionment. He carefully slaps on a Transfiguration spell that makes him look like a bland middle-aged Hogwarts professor.

He’s been so damned bored, cooped up for weeks in Albus’ quarters. There are no warning tinges from the bloodbinding, which he takes as a good sign.

“Afternoon,” Gellert says, with a nonchalant dip of his head.

“Oh,” says the girl, blinking. “Afternoon, sir.”

“It’s a lovely day out, isn’t it?” Gellert says. “I hope you’re not missing class, Miss--?”

“Moria Halloran,” she says. “No, sir, I don’t have class at this time.”

“Ah, I see,” Gellert says lightly. “What are you here by the lake for, Miss Halloran? Fishing? Contemplating a boat ride?”

With a smile, he conjures a fishing rod in his hand in a fluid movement, then transfigures a rock on the ground into a small canoe. Then he makes the objects dissipate in a burst of bubbles.

The girl laughs. “Nothing like that, sir.”

“I suppose the most likely answer is brooding,” Gellert says. “Sorrowful brooding while appreciating nature. Young people these days are rather predictable.”

It makes the girl laugh again. “You must be a new professor, aren’t you? I thought my situation was well-known throughout the castle.”

Situation? Gellert takes another look at the girl. Ah - it appears she’s a half-breed of some kind. Long red hair, eyes that are a shade of yellow, pale heightened cheekbones.

Half-merperson, Gellert guesses. Hmm. The magical world can be rather petty about creature prejudices like this.

“I’m the new assistant Divination professor,” Gellert says, without pausing. “Vates. Antioch Vates.”

“Divination? Are you a Seer?”

“Indeed. I know something of what it means to be born unusual.”

“I don’t think I’m special, Professor Vates,” Moria says. Her gaze drifts out to the Great Lake. “I don’t know anything about my mum; my father never talks about her.

“I’ve only talked to another merperson once. Summer hols by the sea. A merman told me that I was unnatural and swam away. I couldn’t find any more of them after that.

“I’ve taught myself Mermish, and--”

“You’re frightened,” Gellert says. “You’re afraid to confront the merpeople of the Great Lake.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m a _Slytherin_ ,” Moria bites out, and Gellert blinks, because he barely knows anything about Hogwarts’ system of houses. “My housemates don’t like to remember that I’m half. I’m more than a fish.”

“Anyways,” Moria says briskly, not looking at Gellert, “they’d laugh. Everyone will. My housemates. The merpeople. They’d laugh, because I’m never enough. I don’t think there’s anything you can say or help me with, sir, unless you have a prophecy for this.”

“Cloudy skies, with ninety-five percent chance of rain,” Gellert says.

“What?”

“It’s the only prophecy I have at the moment,” Gellert says, with a slight smile, and Moria looks at him like he’s gone mad. “Make your own future, Miss Halloran. Make the confrontation on your own terms. Has your year learned Bubble-Head Charms yet?”

“We have,” she says. “I don’t understand.”

“Use your head, Miss Halloran,” Gellert says, gently, and that’s as far as Albus’ damnable curse lets him say before a headache starts kicking in.

* * *

The next day, it rains.

The parapet gutters get magically diverted, and water rushes down to the Hogwarts dungeons. The pressure is enough to shatter the windows of the Slytherin common room, located under the lake.

Rainwater, lakewater, floodwater. The castle is a bit of a mess.

Calmly, Gellert sidesteps a puddle and applies a Bubble-Head Charm to himself. He thinks it’s very thoughtful of him when he waterproofs Albus’ furniture and possessions, magically sticking them in place.

The water recedes two hours later.

Albus enters his quarters and sees Gellert reading a book, Bubble-Head charm gone.

He’s suspicious. Elly must have informed Albus about Gellert leaving yesterday, annoying little mite, or it’s the bloodbinding at work.

“ _Après moi, le déluge_ ,” Gellert says, without looking up.

He hates the French on principle, but sometimes there’s a dramatic phrase or two that can be irritatingly fitting.

“Students could have drowned,” Albus says. There are worry lines creased on his forehead. “Gellert.”

“You realize that I wasn’t casting magic or anything of that sort,” Gellert says. “I’m assuming nobody drowned, did they? And Elly told me that the Slytherins and the merpeople had a very interesting diplomatic exchange.”

He’s quite sure Moria Halloran feels rather vindicated.

On the whole, this experience is a fascinating case study, Gellert thinks. He is testing the limitations of the bloodbinding.

* * *

 

**4.**

Albus places a one week ban on Gellert to prevent him from leaving the rooms. He temporarily takes away his books and parchment.

When Albus returns that evening, Gellert is removing the Deathly Hallows symbol that he had spelled on the bedroom wall.

“Do you remember,” Gellert says, letting it disappear in flash of gold, “how we used to leave this everywhere? We signed off all our letters with this mark. We carved it underneath the bridge by Turnstone Pond. And one of your brother’s goats--”

“You sheared the Hallows symbol into its wool coat, yes,” Albus says. He looks cautious, but amused; he is used to Gellert’s ever-changing moods. “I believe he still holds a grudge against you for that, years later.”

“Your brother has no sense of adventure or humor,” Gellert says, looking at Albus intensely, and it’s almost as if they’re transported to decades and decades ago. A blond boy peering up at a red-haired boy, discussing their complicated plans and plots.

“Well,” Albus says, “you always thought you were quite the rebel. Considering you were expelled from school for vandalism.”

It’s a sore spot, even now. “I was expelled because of my usage of experimental dark magic. Powerful, dangerous, horrific dark magic.”

“The unremovable Deathly Hallows symbol you graffitied on one of the walls was likely the main point of contention, since Durmstrang has always taught dark magic.”

“That isn’t what the news articles and rumors say,” Gellert says. Being a dark lord meant having influence, and he hadn’t been above ‘improving’ his younger self’s reputation. It’s what those American Muggle fellows call public relations.

As a sixteen-year-old, he _had_ practiced powerful, dangerous, horrific dark magic all the same.

“You truly haven’t changed,” Albus says, something warm in his blue eyes. His gaze flickers to the empty wall where the Deathly Hallows sign had been.

“No,” Gellert agrees, “it would have made this so much easier, wouldn’t it?”

He reaches his hand out to touch Albus’, intertwining their fingers together.

“I am not a fool,” Albus says quietly. “I know that you and your followers have worn the Hallows symbol in the name of a terrible ideology.”

“An ideology you once shared. You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten it all.”

They are standing almost waist-to-waist, bodies nearly flush together.

The Elder Wand is in Albus’ right robe pocket. Once this thought enters Gellert’s head, the pain starts to blossom in his arm and in his head.

He leans forward to press their foreheads together. Albus’ half-moon glasses digs against his face. Gellert twitches his fingers, reaching to grasp the wand, and Albus jerks, realizes, and it feels like Gellert’s body is on fire.

“I love you,” he says, to make the pain go away, and he takes pleasure in the horror and guilt and shock on Albus’ face.

He drops the Elder Wand.

* * *

 

**5.**

That night, Albus finds Gellert on the balcony under the stars. Gellert is sitting down, settled on top of a cushion he had conjured.

“It won’t be easy,” Gellert says, without turning around. “If you keep a beast in a castle, no matter how tightly chained it is, you can’t expect it not to bite.”

“I know, Gellert.” Albus settles down next to him, summoning a cushion of his own. “I am not demanding rehabilitation or redemption from you. I wish--” Albus pauses.

“You want a facade of domesticity,” Gellert scoffs. “You want me to eat desserts with you and ask you about your day. You want to reminisce fondly of our youth at Godric’s Hallow, trying to push the tragedy from your mind. I cannot be that person, Albus.”

“I didn’t know that it would be like this,” Albus says. He touches the phoenix mark on Gellert’s arm. Maps out the path of flames and feathers.

“Do you know what the flood incident taught me?” Gellert says. “There are things I can make people do of their own volition. Even within the confines of the bloodbinding. One day, perhaps, you will become soft-hearted enough to let down your guard, and I will cause harm that’s more than mere water damage.”

“Or you could choose to _stop_ ,” Albus says. “What do you foresee?”

Gellert closes his eyes. He thinks of the fragments of his dreams and visions, and he listens to the hum of the stars.

There will be plenty of sadness and pain, and both of them will do things they’ll regret. There will be ridiculous sweets, assorted bitter teas, books about alchemy and tessomancy and wards and so forth. There will be debates and arguments, and there are some things they will never agree on.

There might be teaching - one day, there could be a Professor ‘Antioch Vates’ after all, rolling his eyes after every single thing Sybil Trelawney says.

There will be war: a boy with a lightning scarred forehead and a man like a snake.

There will be times when Gellert defies Albus so strongly that he thinks that the bloodbinding is about to kill him, and times when Gellert’s not certain how real this arrangement is after he kisses him.

There will still be love, and lots of good sex, because even if they’re no longer teenagers, Gellert is no prude, and there’s a spark between them that will never fade.

It will never, ever be boring. Maybe that’s enough, even if it’s not mastery over death and the universe, even if it’s not a fairy tale ending.

So Gellert opens his eyes. He gives this story a chance, stepping out into the starlight--silent, sentimental, phoenix mark seared into his skin--and takes Albus by the hand.


End file.
